Drifting On The Surface
She wears a little gown,
Her body feels so cold.
Soaked up by the water,
Like the stories untold.
Here and there with some scars,
Her hand so violet
It's there that she has chosen,
Too late to regret it.
Her eyes are open wide
The look she has is sad
No desire to live,
So she chose to be dead.
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Comments about this poem (Drifting On The Surface by Katrina Bearce )
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